Ode to His Anatomy

Mary Orji

I

Chocolate strands, thick and rich,

cascade down his head like molten lava,

their ends dipping into the pool of his slender neck,

where they meet their neighbour:

his Adam’s apple—a mountain in the making.

II

Just slightly above—his firm jaw.

He’s never missed a gum-chewing exercise.

The perfect roof.

Take a few more steps up,

and there they are: his lips—

rosy as a newborn, soft as a cloud.

Immaculate perfection.

III

Then his nose—button-y but long,

slightly crooked,

proof of his daring youth,

the necessary spice to his charm.

And finally, his eyes,

curtained by lashes that whisper,

A perfectionist crafted me.

They house the darkest irises I’ve ever seen.

I think I’ve found the black hole.

IV

Huge, calloused, thick hands—

they could wrap around my neck twice,

with some change.

And the veins? Oh, baby—

blue ornaments of sapphire.

Those lengthy, girthy digits

bless holes with pleasure

even gods cannot bestow.

V

My favourite feature, you ask?

He’s a collection of them.How dare you make me choose?

Oh gods… his abs—

hand me some oil

and watch me glide down those ridges.

Water parks should have abs-themed slides.

VI

His thighs, maybe?

He never skips leg day.

If only chicken thighs were half as succulent—

thank the stars they’re not.

He needs no rivals.

I would surrender to their torture;

there’s no escape when he pummels me to oblivion.

VII

His gluteus maximus?

I’ve dreamt of those twin valleys

more times than I care to admit.

Firm as days-old sourdough—

but tastier, I bet.

VIII

Even his toes

look like they could rival Adonis—

ten fruit-flavoured candies—mine.

For such a macho man,

it’s an anomaly to have baby-soft feet.

He is an enigma.

And the arch of his feet?

Wider than a rainbow’s bend.

IX

So here in my museum,

I feed my sight on every piece—

curves, slopes, lengths & widths.

Whole, yet fragmented,

He stands before me:

all now part of my collection.

My art.

My him.